Again, The Magic
by The Typing Cat
Summary: After his life abruptly comes crashing around him, a newly single Harry Potter stumbles into someone who might make things better...in her own convoluted, messed-up way.
1. The Phoenix In Repose

A/N: The original chapter went from 930-ish words to almost 2,000. Hopefully it reads better.

* * *

 _He hated gossip_.

A symphony of whispers rose and fell, then rose again whenever some bystander spotted the unfashionably thick spectacles of The-Boy-Who-Lived as he ambled through the crowd. The uncharacteristically subdued atmosphere of Diagon Alley had come alive with hushed words, the sotto voices filling the streets with a buzzing not unlike that of an angry beehive. Glittering eyes peeked from beneath pointed hats and weathered caps as hands rose to discretely cover smirking mouths. Lips parted to snidely comment that, while they had never been so reckless as to find themselves caught in a fight with a dragon or a demented Dark Lord, at least _they_ knew how to keep their relationships intact.

The unfortunate target of the malicious rumors seemed completely oblivious to what was going on around him. Whatever the crowd thought the weary soul had or had not done was inconsequential to the man. Once the sharp tongues of the magical world started wagging, it was difficult to dissuade them. It had been little over a week since the news had made the cover of one of the Wizarding World's top magazines, but it was only a matter of time until something else came along to occupy the idle minds of the people around him. Until then, he'd have to grit his teeth and deal with it.

It wasn't as if the idea of turning around and asking the nosy strangers around him just what they found so amusing about the situation hadn't occurred to him before. He'd been sorely tempted to do so when a group of matronly ladies had huddled together during lunch the previous day as he had stepped into the Ministry of Magic. But a confrontation was completely out of the question. Harry Potter had made a name for himself inside the office. His ability to remain cool and collected while under pressure had just landed him the position of head Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If he caved in to his need for silence and whirled around to shout at the witches and wizards milling about the cobbled streets outside, he'd be throwing away years of hard work and dedication for a sense of relief that would only last seconds.

Living under scrutiny once more would be nothing short of torture, but he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him react to the wild rumors. Harry would bite his tongue and play blind while they circled like sharks, but what the wizarding world used as entertainment would have no effect on the life he was trying to rebuild. If it wasn't a threat to society, they could say whatever the hell they wanted to say behind his back. If it didn't force him to wield his badge and take out his wand in defense, whatever happened outside of the Ministry's walls was of no concern to him.

With a smile that didn't quite make it to the emerald eyes on his face, Harry reached out to take his coffee out of the hands of the young witch who'd served it for him. The warm drink was the first of the many that would follow as he struggled to prevent his tired eyes from drooping during the workday. He removed a few coins from the pocket of his robes, making sure to leave a little extra as a tip to the nervous girl who'd tended to his coffee, and placed them on the counter before walking out of the shop he'd been frequenting for half a decade.

If he ignored the shifting of people as they turned to stare at him, the world outside was breathtakingly beautiful. A picturesque blue sky bathed Diagon with its glow, and a cool late-December breeze flitted through the streets, making the signs above them sway in soothing rhythms. He paused beneath the shadow of a building and drank in the sights. They were a welcome change from the forlorn atmosphere of Grimmauld Place and the oppressive gloom of his office. The Ministry had, for security reasons, removed all windows from the Departments. A handful of skylights were still present, but they did little to alleviate the dreary feel of the cubicles. Harry drew in a deep breath at the thought, letting the chilly air seep into his lungs as he remembered that air inside the DMLE carried that peculiar scent that wafted about in overcrowded places, and exhaled.

Harry shook his head, reached up to make sure that the bowl hat atop his head was still properly centered and began the tediously long walk back to The Leaky Cauldron. How could the people be more interested in gossip than the lovely weather around them? They had been encapsulated by snow and rain for weeks, and his personal life was still somehow more enjoyable to these people than finally being able to stroll outside. With a twitch in the corner of his mouth, nodded at Dean Thomas as he walked past the Weasley's shop, careful not to make eye contact with the redheads peering at him through the display windows.

He was painfully aware of the fact that his failings amused the world to no end. Something about his inability to succeed in some areas of his life as an adult made the envious purr with unfeigned delight. In all honesty, he'd gotten used to it. He'd been plagued by naysayers for most of his life. He'd even begun to find their interest in his life and the wild rumors they concocted every now and then amusing. At least until recently. Now, the unsolicited attention just irked him. He felt like a wounded animal; and instead of offering some compassion they leered while he went through his death throes. It was hard to pretend that his life could ever be normal again, that the ache in his chest would be able to heal, when everyone's eyes were on him.

As if they had witnessed a Phoenix rising from its ashes, the doe-eyed stares were inevitably drawn to him wherever he went. And it was terribly unsettling to be looked at in that fashion. Their gazes were so direct, so penetrating that he momentarily struggled to focus on the warm cup of liquid in his hand and the blue cobblestones beneath his feet. Things were made considerably worse by the fact that they moved out of his way whenever he got too close, as if he had been afflicted by some horrible disease and it was on display for everyone to see. His mind raced in all sorts of worrisome directions at the thought, and he paused to pull the neck of the tell-tale brown coat of the Auror's department closer to his nape and a frame that had whittled down much like a bar of soap after constant use over the course of three months.

What bothered Harry the most about his predicament was that it was not all that uncommon. The crowd was making a fuss over something had had become commonplace in society. Not that it mattered to them. _He_ was the _famous Harry Potter_. It was all anyone cared about. Every issue that had surfaced in his life had inevitably been sensationalized by the press. So, the once-lauded hero of the magical world was now being cross-examined over an incident that he refused to discuss with anyone. There would be no guest appearances in radio shows, no interviews to sate the raving curiosity of the masses. Whatever had happened between him and his wife would stay between them. He was intent on concentrating on his job, and with little else to tear him away from his Department, Harry's personal office had transformed into his second home.

His behavior was a bit obsessive. It would undoubtedly cause him some harm, but he found himself caring very little about the possibility of doing damage to a body already peppered with scars. At the thought his gloved hand rose, fingers sliding idly beneath his overgrown hair to trace the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. The damaged tissue hadn't hurt in years, but he'd been suffering from nearly constant and crippling headaches for three months. They didn't seem to have any intentions of leaving, either. Stress and exhaustion had mixed into a potent cocktail that constantly stabbed at his temples. Walking usually eased the ache, but not even coffee seemed to help that morning.

As he rubbed the side of his skull with two fingers, Harry suddenly wondered what the crowd expected of him. Knowing what to say and how to behave in front of curious strangers had always been beyond him. Hermione was good at it. Ginny was good at it. He was only slightly above Ron when it came to dealing with people. How the hell was he supposed to act after newspapers and magazines had plastered his face all over their front covers? Sure, the information on him was incorrect, but how was he supposed to combat gossip? Because he _was_ thoroughly convinced that the attention he was receiving had very little to do with how the DMLE had just successfully completed their first joint forces operations with America and a lot to do with his wife moving out of their house.

The vivid memory of his wife, still attired in her green Harpies uniform, making her way out of the home they had shared settled like a stone inside his stomach. Something must've shown in his face after the flash, because a second later the alleyway pulsed with renewed excitement over his presence. Merlin, he was just twenty-five. He was twenty-five and it felt as if the world had stopped doing whatever it usually did to occupy itself and bared its sharpened teeth in his direction. He was no stranger to salacious rumors or speculation, but their rekindled interest in him chaffed like leather against a bleeding blister.

A strange wave of vulnerability washed over him. It was as if a mask had been ripped from his face and all the emotions he'd been bottling up inside him had been revealed to the people around him. Startled, he lengthened his stride and quickened his pace. The Leaky Cauldron was only a dozen feet away, but it roughly felt like the distance between London and Sydney. Sweat made the hair beneath his hat stick to his cool skin. His stomach threatened to empty itself, but he swallowed down the thick lump at his throat. Unwilling to show any outward signs of despair despite his current state, Harry lifted the coffee mug to his dry lips with surprisingly steady fingers and took a fortifying sip. Suffering from an anxiety attack while out in the open was not a good look for a man in his position.

It was over, and he could do nothing about it.

He had desperately tried to make the relationship work. They had sat down and discussed different possibilities for over two years, hoping that a minor change here and a minor change there would fortify the ailing union. He hadn't realized, of course. It was only after his wife had confessed her unhappiness that he'd noticed how unsatisfied she'd been with the marriage. He had managed to convince her to give them another shot, that what they still felt could salvage the wreckage left behind by different needs and clashing schedules. And he'd done his best to be better for her. To try harder. It hadn't worked, though. Now word had finally spread through the grapevine.

Harry Potter was no longer a married man.

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A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing, but that's half the fun, right?


	2. Whispers Of A Scandal

A/N: Chapter II up. Changes made to it are noted at the bottom of the chapter. :)

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 _The shocking revelation: How a heartbroken Harry Potter is dealing with the collapse of marriage._

 _In case any of you have been living under a rock for the past three months, Harry Potter and his wife announced they would be separating after three short years of marriage. Several sources have assured this Witch Weekly reporter that The-Boy-Who-Lived found out about his ex-wife's rumored infidelity while he was participating in the Ministry's first co-op mission since Grindelwald's fall with the American Auror's Department._

 _Our scarred savior's rival in love? Why, he is none other than the devilishly good-looking Alexei Shepperd! Sidelined from the Pride of Portree Quidditch team after an unfortunate accident during a game earlier this season, Alexei has been traveling with the Harpies to support his half-sister and current team captain, Gisele Beauchamp._

 _The risqué affair had allegedly been going on for months behind Harry Potter's back- an accusation that both parties have fiercely denied. The power couple announced their split last week, though the rumors of separation had been aflutter since Miss Weasley neglected to be by her husband's side for the Ministry's annual Christmas Ball. Our reliable sources claim that Mr. Potter had suspected his wife's commitment might not have been entirely there for some time, but he finally put his foot down after pictures of his lady love and her supposed paramour surfaced last October._

 _While the love birds claim to be only friends, this humble writer must admit that Mr. Shepperd and Mrs. Weasley look quite cozy with each other in the scandalous photograph. Outraged fans are demanding that the injured Alexei be completely removed from the Pride's roster as soon as possible, claiming that a man with no morals should not be representing the team. The Pride of Portree team has remained mum about the subject._

 _One source close to Mr. Shepperd denies the rumors. They claim that the charismatic chaser and Miss Weasley have been friends for quite some time now, and that reports of them being inappropriately close are simply twisting the bond between them into something unfortunate. The source refused to comment on the picture or the fact that couple has been seen together multiple times since news of the divorce came to light._

 _Another source says that the two have always been close- suspiciously so- and that Mr. Potter's monthlong stint in the United States of America allowed their behavior to escalate and become less appropriate. Some of our sources even claim that Mr. Shepperd had been boasting about bedding the red-haired beauty for quite some time. Rumors of the couple meeting in hotel rooms for secret trysts as the Harpies traveled the globe for their matches have apparently begun to circle through the Quidditch underworld._

 _In an interview with Blue Skies Ahead, our sister magazine and leader in all things Quidditch, Alexei Shepperd admitted that his friendly behavior is often confused with flirting, and that he would never date another quidditch player unless he found himself head-over-heels in love. Could he have found the missing half of his heart in the married Harpies' seeker? And did Ginevra's loyalty falter after finding herself irresistibly drawn to the up-and-coming Quidditch star?_

 _One can't help but to wonder if the couple had been moving steadily past friendship and Mr. Potter's absence simply made it easier for them to succumb to the attraction simmering between them._

 _At least we know that the Head of our Auror's Department is getting some much-needed support from old allies as he copes with the undoubtedly painful split. While he supposedly has not been in contact with Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ronald Weasley since the divorce, a co-worker has shared with Witch Weekly that he has since moved into his notorious Godfather's old home and a male member of the infamous Dumbledore's Army has joined him there._

 _Attempts to reach Mrs. Granger and her husband for comments have failed, but they have not been seen together with our hero for months. It seems like Harry Potter is too embarrassed to even face those closest to him after the collapse of his relationship. "It's Obvious that he is very lonely." The source from the Ministry told us after news of the divorce leaked. "The man looks like he's falling apart."_

 _The Minister of Magic has reportedly offered the horribly depressed Mr. Potter a month of paid leave so he can sort through the ashes of his relationship- an offer that the new bachelor has apparently refused._

 _"This is not the future he imagined. He never expected his marriage to be snuffed out, and was excited about starting a family with the woman he considered to be the love of his life." Says a self-proclaimed friend of the Auror. "But hopefully he'll be able to move to the next stage of his life now that the relationship is finally over."_

* * *

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was pitch-black and eerily silent, and if he ever stumbled inside after a night of reckless quaffing, Seamus Finnegan was utterly convinced that he'd be dragged off by some as-of-yet-undiscovered creature. Since being abducted by the hairy nightmares scuttling throughout derelict houses was not on his list of favorite pastimes, he shakily removed the wand from the holster by his hip and waved it with a flourish.

The dilapidate silk walls of the infamous Black family were revealed as the lamps above sputtered, then came alive. In spite of the flames crackling merrily over the chestnut tresses atop his head, he was hesitant to cross the threshold. There was something unsettling about the old townhouse. Its high ceilings and winding hallways made everything seem strangely sinister and disproportionate. Even the grimy tessellated tiles beneath his work shoes seemed to absorb the moonlight streaming through the open door, as if the house had become sentient and refused to accept anything that hadn't been part of it for centuries.

"Can't even leave the bloody lights on." The words, slurred by sleep and a touch of gin, only served to highlight his Irish brogue. "Looks like the bloody Batcave, it does."

A thick puff of dust took flight as he dropped his leather satchel by the entrance and finally shut the door behind him. Nothing about his new home came close to making him feel welcome. What wasn't covered in dirt after years of disuse and poor upkeep looked ancient. The furniture was outdated and far too large for the spaces they occupied, and the decoration that had once been considered tasteful reminded him of haunted houses from the horror movies his father loved to watch.

When he'd first decided to have a chat with his former roommate turned boss about renting a room inside the home he'd moved into after his separation from Ginny Weasley, Seamus had not expected…well, _this_. He'd been unwilling to admit it to his friend, but dark places did strange things to him. They had bothered him ever since the war, where he'd been forced to fight in the battle of Hogwarts under the cover of the night. Everything seemed menacing in the shadows, from the coats hanging on pegs by the entryway to the vase filled with withering flowers on a silver table nearby.

He still had nightmares about the battle, and the events that had transpired that day would probably haunt him for the rest of his existence. It was hard to forget the pounding of rain, the bridges that had swarmed with masked death eaters and sharp-toothed fiends, and that great yawning void stretching endlessly behind them…

"I pay the rent." He said sullenly, opening the container he'd been clutching to take a long swig. "I even cook for the git. He can't even light a bloody candle."

He removed the disgusting brown coat the people in the Auror's Department were all forced to wear and hung it on a peg beside the one that belonged to his inconsiderate roommate. He understood why the house was the way it was. The Black family had guttered out with the death of Harry Potter's Godfather. It had sat untouched for nearly a decade after the war, and Harry had only recently moved. Still, he could have at least tried to tidy up before he'd accepted the Irish lad's proposal of renting a room there.

His mother hadn't been too thrilled about him moving out of his childhood home and into the derelict house that had once belonged to people who viewed muggles as less than desirable. Maybe she had been right. Because something about the place was off-putting, and his friend wasn't doing a very good job of making him feel welcome in the space. It was the ninth time in three months that he'd stumbled into a pitch-black house after a long day at work. Still, he guessed that it was better than sharing a house with his cheating fiancé.

Yeah, being eaten alive by a monster in the old Black home was definitively better than sharing a roof with that backstabbing Jezebel.

He wondered if he should breach the topic of lighting with his friend. Not that Seamus would ever confess to his fear of the dark. He was a grown-arse man. He still had his pride. And if Harry Potter could sit in the dark for long hours and not even twitch after enduring everything he had endured, he could surely handle the situation with the same amount of quiet dignity. Or maybe, he thought with another swig of his flask, he could somehow convince the hero to add electricity to the house. It was in desperate need of an update, anyways. Just the idea of being able to see everything in front of his with a flip of a switch made him feel better about the idea of living there.

It would also make it easier for him to find his way upstairs during one of his _bachelor weekends_. It was hard for him to play the part of suave seducer while fumbling his way through a long hallway, up some stairs and into his bedroom with a woman in tow. Yes, electricity was something that the house desperately needed. Whether he liked it or not, Harry Potter was going to have to sit down and listen to the long list of things their temporary home needed to be hospitable once more. With the thought firmly set on his mind, Seamus began the arduous task of finding a gangly, dark-haired man in a house with more rooms than sense.

The burly Gryffindor had made a habit of confirming that the doors in the building were kept firmly shut before he headed upstairs for the night. Harry had never really cared about this, but Seamus had developed a habit of going through every single room and closing them, concerned that some unknown force would escape from its confines and drag itself towards his bed as he slept. It was a strange and paranoid habit of his, but Harry thankfully said nothing about it. Still, that meant he found himself constantly peering into dark rooms through blackened doorways as he searched for his missing friend.

After going through a number of abandoned rooms, he finally reached the one they had converted into a makeshift living room and wearily ducked his head inside. The moon outside was a wafer through the window at the far end. They had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains after they'd eaten dinner there the previous night. Not that it made much of a difference. Once again, the house had done its best to enshroud itself in the darkness by covering the small circle he'd cleaned in the window with his sleeve with a layer of fresh dust. And Harry was still nowhere to be seen.

He didn't know why he'd ever considered that The-Boy-Who-Lived would be in there. Harry had developed a penchant for burying himself beneath mountains of work since he had split with his wife. It was, in Seamus' opinion, the worst possible way to handle a break up. Merlin, crying endlessly for weeks seemed like a better reaction to heartbreak than scribbling on parchment until his hand felt raw. He'd only ever seen his friend use the television when the man had needed some background noise as he worked. While the rooms after that one had been rearranged and organized, Seamus highly doubted he'd find Harry in any of them. So, to the kitchen it was.

"We could be at my favorite club." He began as his eyes followed the sliver of light in the hall to the open doorway of the kitchen. "Nursing a stiff drink, basking in the company of beautiful women. But here we are." When he got no reaction from the man, he sighed. "Don't you ever get tired of just sitting there? Of working the nights away?"

"Not particularly." Harry, who managed to surprise him by looking thinner and paler each time he laid eyes on him, flipped through several pages in his hand before turning back to the first one and grimacing. "This is the third one this week. Maybe I should talk to Patton about the possibility of adding some extra security around the area…"

With a groan of dismay, Seamus braced his hand on the doorway and pressed his forehead against it for half a second. "Mate, can you stop that for a second?"

"I have to finish this by Monday." Harry said briskly. He pulled a sheet of fresh parchment and hunched over it. "Maybe Kingsley should do something about the bre-"

"It's New Years." Seamus strolled in the direction of the fridge, making sure his voice was sufficiently loud to wake up the dead. "And we're single. We should be out there, looking for pretty things to keep our beds warm tonight."

"Please stop drinking from the containers." For someone who'd spent most of his life covered in blood and dirt, Harry Potter sure was stringent about his kitchen hygiene rules. Seamus swallowed what was left of the orange juice and set the container down on the counter. "And I still have a lot of things to take care of after this year ends, Seamus."

"And I don't?" His desk was beginning to look like a budding city, complete with towering paper skyscrapers. "Mr. Potter, you are twenty-five years old. Go outside and live it up tonight. Drink yourself into a stupor and dance like no one is watching. Flirt your way into some lucky lady's bed and let her ride you like you're the newest Nimbus model."

"Pass." Harry set his quill down next to his inkpot, lips moving idly as he read through what he'd just written. With a sigh, he straightened the documents on the table and set them aside. "You should go out and have fun tonight, Seamus. And please don't do the thing with your lady friends on the kitchen table. I work here, and I don't want to see your pasty arse again."

"Is this really how you're going to spend the rest of your life, Harry?" His irritation was justified, but the gin shots he'd been taking since before he left work only made the spark shine brighter. "You're being melodramatic. If you're going to waste away working surrounded by dust and mold, you might as well just jump out the window and end it."

"Thanks." Harry smiled wryly at him, and the severe lines that had begun to form by his mouth softened. "I'll consider the suggestion. No promises, though."

"I don't actually want you to jump out the window. So…don't get any ideas." Seamus added as he walked over to the opposite side of the table and dropped into the chair. "I'm just saying. There are better ways to handle the split and those bullshit cheating rumors. Go out there and get under a lady before this depression of yours consumes you."

"Seamus, you've had women under _and_ on top of you for the past three months." Harry glanced at him for half a second before returning to his papers. "Has it made you feel any better about what Sarah did?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Seamus doubted anything would ever make him feel better about catching his fiancé in flagrante delicto with the man she'd claimed to be her cousin just weeks before, but at least he was taking steps to get over her. The same could not be said for Harry. "Betrayal is not something you can easily forget. Just like you won't be able to get over Ginny for a bit."

The corner of his friend's mouth twitched, and he could've sworn he saw his jaw tighten. "We really don't need to have this conversation, Seamus."

"Look, I get it." Seamus left the chair and turned back to the fridge, unable to look at Harry as he discussed his now-defunct relationship. "She was your forever, man. I thought Sarah was going to be my forever, too. But you can't keep wallowing in self-pity for the rest of your life. Put yourself out there again."

"I have more important things to take care of. Work, for example." It didn't sound as if the ex-seeker truly believed what he'd just practically grunted out. "I already told you, this has to be done by Monday."

"Those papers are still going to be there when you wake up tomorrow." Seamus reached out for a package of week-old fudge flies and stuffed the chocolate bugs into his mouth. They were cold and harder than they honestly should've been, but he hadn't eaten anything since lunch. "Go out with me tonight. Be my wingman and have fun, for once in your life. Get a kiss from someone new and exciting at midnight."

" _Fine_."

" _What_?" A particularly icy fudge fly tangled in the back of his tongue and scraped its way down his throat. Through a fit of hacking coughs and tear-stung eyes, Seamus turned on his heels and stared at the man sitting by the table. "Are you serious or am I hearing things?"

A frown made its way to Harry's face. "You know what? Nevermi-"

" _NO_!" Seamus drew in a raspy breath and dabbed at the liquid that had pooled in the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his work shirt. "This is bloody fantastic!" He closed the fridge door and gestured at the kitchen entrance. "You take a bath and I'll do the same. You can even borrow some of my clothes."

The frown on Harry's forehead deepened. "What's wrong with the clothes that I have?"

"Uh…" What _wasn't_ wrong with a closet filled with work uniforms, worn out shirts and jeans? He wasn't about to tell him that, though. He wasn't sure how Harry would feel if he admitted to curiously raiding his closet one day. Seamus grinned and offered him a shrug. "Mine are better suited for partying. You need to look your best if you want to get laid tonight."

"If you say so." Harry sounded entirely unconvinced. "But I've seen what you wear. Nothing too colorful, please. Also, you'll have to shrink them back to your size after you're done with them, since I'm about a head taller than you.'

"I'm six feet tall!" Seamus shot back with a glare.

For the first time in months, a genuine smile made its way to Harry's face. "Right."

"Whatever." With a final glare as he made his way out of the kitchen, Seamus began his trek up the stairs, pausing to call back to his friend. "You're going to have fun, man. Trust me!"

"Right." Harry blew out a long breath and reluctantly removed his documents from the table. "If you say so, Seamus."

* * *

A/N: Someone suggested that the article was a little too harsh because it was all **bold**. I agreed. It felt a little bland and messy when I re-read it as well, so I re-wrote it. I feel like it reads better now. As always, your thoughts are greatly appreciated, and they also let me know I'm doing _something_ right.


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